Sun, Surf, Cowboys and ConMen
by Slash McSlash
Summary: Alternate ending to "Midnight Cowboy". Joe and Rico make it to Miami. Rated because of the movie's content.


**Disclaimer:** I own nothing featured in this fic. Come on.

**A/N: **Here's how I wish the film had ended. A happy conclusion, for anyone out who wanted to see Joe and Rico make it to Miami.

Sun, Surf, Cowboys and Con-Men

by

Norikio Na No Da

People sunbathing on cotton towels couldn't help but stare at the mismatched duo walking across the beach.

The one, Joe Buck, was tall, handsome, and blond as the sun, and moved with the southwestern swagger of a Texan. The other, Rico Rizzo, was short and dark, and walked with a pronounced gimp in one leg, yet with a cocky confidence that told the world he wasn't going to let it get in his way. Both men were dressed in loud, colorful Hawaiian shirts that neither looked accustomed to wearing. And neither seemed to care that they were attracting stares.

Joe couldn't help but smile, listening to his smaller companion chattering away in his Bronx accent. Rico looked healthier than Joe had ever seen him – his cough had vanished, and he was able to walk short distances without taking a break, and, more importantly, without falling down. The Florida sun seemed to have done him every bit of good he had thought it would (the hospital stay probably helped a little, too, though Joe knew Rico would never admit it).

"I'm tellin' ya, cowboy, the dames down here would love ya," the former New York con-artist was saying. "They come down here to enjoy their golden years, and what better way than with a visit from a country stud like you?"

"No, no more o' that for me, boy," Joe said, shaking his head. "I told you, I'm done with the hustlin' business. It's nothing but trouble."

"Oh yeah?" Rico smirked up at him sidelong. "What happened to 'the only thing I ever been good for is loving'?"

"Hey, if you can turn over a new leaf, so can I – _Ratso."_

Rico shushed him loudly, and looked over each shoulder as if afraid they would be overheard. "What'd I tell ya about usin' that name, dummy?"

"Sorry." Joe grinned. "I forgot."

"Yeah, whatever, cowboy."

Rico stopped walking, and sat down abruptly in the sand. Joe dropped down beside him, and reached over to grab his friend's thin arm, worry creasing his features. Memories of the snowy New York streets came rushing to mind.

"You okay?"

"Never better. Look at this, Joe." Rico lay back, his black hair against the stark white sand. There was a profound look of peace on his face. Joe relaxed. "Look at this. Sun, surf, sand, palm trees, just like I said. We made it. I wouldn't even mind sleepin' out here."

"Personally, I'd prefer a hotel room."

"Mm. How much we got?"

"'Nuff for a room for a couple nights. But I need to get a job, soon as I can."

"Yeah, me too." Rico sighed, and propped himself up on his elbows. "Whatcha got in mind?"

"Don't much care. As long as I don't gotta wash dishes like back in Texas." Joe pondered for a minute. "Outdoors work. Building houses, maybe. There's gotta be more money in that than in hustlin'."

"Good excuse for ya to work with your shirt off," Rico said jokingly, "and then maybe some broad with an ad agency will see ya and pick ya up as a model. One a' those cowboys you see in cigarette commercials." The irony in his voice vanished, and he sat up a little straighter, seriously contemplating the idea. "Yeah! And then I could be your manager. There's _real_ money in the modeling business!"

Joe shook his head, smiling. "Who knows?" He lay back with his arms crossed behind his head and listened to Rico elaborate on his plans for their careers, waving his skinny, suntanned arms enthusiastically.

For the moment, Joe could care less about money or getting a job. For the moment, all of his problems had melted away. Crazy Annie, the skeptics back in Texas, the harsh reality of city living, the inward shame of prostitution, the growing fear that one day he'd wake up and find Rico had died overnight in his fevered sleep. For now, there was just him and Rico, stretched out happily on the sun-kissed white coast of Miami, talking about a future they hoped lay in store for them, a way to somehow, anyhow, make the happiness last.

The sun was shining. Joe Buck wasn't lonesome anymore.

**END.**


End file.
